God I miss the days when you could show up to a strangerās farm and heād say āWhatās your name, boy?ā and youād take off your hat and hold it to your chest to better let him see your face and reply āWhy I aināt got none, sir, on account of my mammy passed on before she could give me oneā and heād tell you heās real damn sorry to hear that and ask what he can do you for and youād tell him that you canāt read nor even write neither but youāre mighty good with horses and can mend them fallen fence posts what you saw on your way in and wonāt ask for nothing much more than a hot meal and a warm barn to sleep in and heād keep his wife and daughters inside but send his boy who aināt got married yet even though his mama tells him he needs a woman out with a lantern and some stew at night and the two of youād get to talkin and heād throw you his flask to take a swig from and watch you drinkin from it while he leant against the door frame and when he finally got called back on up to the house again heād take a sip from it too real slow-like like it werenāt the whiskey what he were tryna savour